No Holds Barred In Sacramento

Chapter One

The atmosphere in Oakland was absolutely, utterly crazy. Familiar with WWE productions as she was, The Sioux had never experienced anything like it, not even when she'd valeted for Trish, the night she had won back her belt in "The Fight of the Century".

Madness it was; total madness. A girl couldn't properly hear herself think. Rational thought was not a possibility.

'Trish, Trish, Trish!' the audience yelled. 'Trish, Trish, Trish.'

To be fair, even Trish had seemed a little overwhelmed by her reception. Leastways she had until the bout started; then she'd put her game face on and meant business all the way.

There were still two weeks to go until the big rematch headlined in Sacramento. Tonight was the blonde bombshell's one and only appearance since she'd regained her title. It was also her first outing with The Sioux as her tag partner. Not that her partner was getting much attention; it was only too obvious that the audience was letting the older half of the Canuck pairing know she had been sorely missed.

'Trish, Trish, Trish!' they roared as their favourite diva chick-kicked her latest hapless opponent. 'Trish, Trish, Trish.'

Left in the shade or not, The Sioux was proud to be involved. Even though the script dictated that her part in proceedings was already played for the evening, she leant through the ropes, holding her hand out to be tagged, shouting encouragement that couldn't possibly be heard.

'Come on, Trish,' she called. 'Come on my darling.'

Less than a minute later, exactly as planned, Trish followed up yet another kick by grabbing her dazed opponent by the hair and driving her face-first into the canvas. Then, as the beaten girl's partner made to join the fray, she met her with a vicious forearm smash that sent her head over heels backwards, crashing down onto the ring surround.

Cue bedlam.

The Sioux joined her triumphant partner in the squared circle and they climbed up on the ropes in opposite corners, acknowledging their victory. Okay, she knew she was basking in reflected glory, but the occasion was too much not to enjoy. She let the cries of 'Trish, Trish, Trish' wash over her and allowed herself to dream.

My God, she marvelled, how good life must be if it's always like this!

Too soon they were out of arena and backstage, heading for their dressing rooms, fielding nods, air kisses, hugs and congratulations as they went. And the excitement really was heady; it made The Sioux believe she was part of the best tag team ever. It made her believe in miracles.

It made her believe she was seen as Trish's partner in more ways than one.

She was starting to wonder if she should go with Trish into her room, maybe share a shower with her while most of the world's media waited right outside the door, when a figure reared up before them, springing from out of seemingly nowhere.

Fuck; it was Victoria.

Without a title to keep hold of, Victoria had been fighting regularly while Trish trained and avoided the risk of losing their holy grail. Vic was appearing yet again that night, next on but one, and was kitted out and ready in skimpy black leather.

Even a girl with mixed emotions had to admit the woman was hotter than hot.

No, she wasn't merely hot, she was magnificent; and as for her tits . . .

'Jesus,' said Trish, 'are you trying to give me a heart attack!'

Victoria laughed. 'Not before our big night. And good fight, by the way. I enjoyed watching your chest bouncing about.'

Trish laughed with her. 'Guess I'd better watch yours later, then.'

'What do you mean: my fight or my chest?'

'I dare say I mean both.'

'That sounds good to me. See you around.'

The Sioux felt sick as she watched Victoria sashay away from them. Her attention had been fully on Trish; as Trish's mere tag partner she had been blanked and completely ignored. As a former lover, Vic sure knew how to hurt a girl.

'Are you okay?' Trish asked. 'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Summoning a pale smile, The Sioux said maybe the excitement ringside had got to her. She did not confess that she was nauseated by the sudden warmth between the two great rivals. And the very idea of Trish and Victoria consensually fucking together gutted her. How could that be even a possibility?

It was, though. She'd seen the way the two of them looked at each other, exchanging simmering stares. She'd seen them doing the same in Chicago, too. And they did have previous form, didn't they?

The thought came unbidden: Thanks partly to me!!

Bitter jealousy flooded through her. She was halfway in love with Trish but couldn't get Vic out of her head. And, of course, "Mistress" had those compromising photos; the ones she'd taken after they'd supposedly split up.

What the fuck would Trish say if she ever saw them? She'd say her new lover was a pervert and a whore, wouldn't she?

And she might well be right.

'I'm going back to my hotel,' The Sioux said. 'I'm going to lie down in a dark room and hope I'll be okay by the morning.'

She couldn't help but notice Trish's curious expression as she left.

*****

Victoria had meticulously stuck to her scripts since her reconciliation with the Commissioner. It helped that she had got to win every single match since Trish had ambushed her in Boston, naturally. And it helped that the ultimate reward would soon be coming her way in Sacramento: a genuine, unrehearsed, winner-takes-all reward.

With me at my strongest and fittest ever!

She grinned ferociously as she circled Mari-Lynn in tonight's big women's event, not caring if she did look slightly insane. Trish had prepared well too; you only had to look at her to see that. There again, she would have trained hard, wouldn't she? She wasn't just a prime piece of ass; she was a dedicated, driven professional. Two more weeks and they'd both be fitter than fit.

And may the best woman win . . . as long as she's me!!

Tonight was the third time Victoria had fought Mari-Lynn who was, without the shadow of a doubt, another prime piece of ass. Still young, still making a name for herself, the girl had a body to die for. She also deserved more wins than the scriptwriters had been giving her. Victoria actually felt guilty when, exactly as ordained, she utilized the Widow's Peak to end the contest . . . as it most always did.

Then, as wild celebrations erupted all around her, she froze.

My God, what was that awful sound!

The crunch wasn't easy to identify, what with the crowd going totally bananas. Surely it couldn't be anything vital. She'd performed that move dozens of times without ever really hurting anyone. But not with the same crackly crunch, though . . .

'Vic, Vic, Vic,' the audience howled. 'Vic, Vic, Vic.'

Normally Victoria would have critically assessed her support, weighing it against the support Trish had got earlier. For once she didn't bother. For once she was too concerned about her opponent to bother about minor details.

Please, she thought, not her spine. Please, anything but that.

The script called for Mari-Lynn to act badly injured for a while. Victoria went through all the usual formalities with one eye on her. Thankfully, after three or four minutes of medical assistance, she got up and left the ring under her own steam.

'Thank you God,' Victoria breathed, briefly closing her eyes. 'I owe You for that.'

She caught up with the beaten party in the corridor outside the dressing rooms. 'Are you okay?' she asked, tentatively.

Mari-Lynn was hobbling a little but had no obvious breaks. She turned and smiled at her conqueror. 'I guess I'll be okay if they ever let me beat you,' she said.

Relief rushed through Victoria. 'I was afraid I'd slammed you down too hard,' she said, reassured but still caring more than she'd ever cared for a loser's health before.

'No harm done,' Mari-Lynn's smile widened into a grin, 'nothing that a full-body massage won't cure, anyway. You can come along and give me one if you like; check my vertebrae one by one.' Then, laughing as she spoke: 'But that's hardly your thing, is it? I bet you'd prefer to flog me.'

That was a come-on and Vic bought it in a flash. Concern and anxiety vanished instantly. 'Believe it or not I do have a gentle side,' she said, returning the grin. 'But I also have an aversion to giving massages in dressing rooms. We'll have to go to the hotel instead.'

'That's fine by me,' said Mari-Lynn. 'That sounds like my kind of massage.'

Chapter Two

Trish was in her favourite position: on top of a willing woman, skilfully pushing her favourite strap-on in and out of her, making her wriggle and writhe, moan and groan. She was enjoying doing all the giving every bit as much as the other girl was enjoying doing all the taking. Her senses were, to say the least, right up there near pleasure overload.

In fact it was a minor miracle she wasn't moaning and groaning herself.

Usually Trish was as deep a thinker as anyone she knew. Not just then, however. Just then she was living purely for sensation and had no space in her head for thoughts of any variety. If she had have had the ability to wonder, she might have marvelled at the identity of tonight's recipient. She'd expected to be fucking The Sioux right then, after their winning debut together; indeed she had been looking forward to it all week.

Yet here she was, fucking Jackie, of all people.

Jackie, for God's sake!

This is how it came about. Bemused by The Sioux's sudden "illness", Trish had loitered around backstage, waiting to have a pre-planned snarling encounter with Victoria. That went as good as word perfect and every angry eye-flash was televised. Then, out of range of the cameras, ready to shower and change, who had waylaid her but Jackie.

'Ah,' said the tall, big-titted beauty, 'it's the lady who needs no introduction . . . apart from Fanfare for the Common Man.'

Trish hadn't previously had much to do with Jackie and didn't class her as a serious rival. But she did class her as seriously sexy. Throwaway lines were swapped, eye contact was made . . .

And now they were on a hotel bed, an hour or more into a very agreeable fuck. So far Trish had been in almost complete control. She'd slowly stripped the clothes off Jackie. She had chewed at her lovely big tits and licked at her clit. She'd crammed her tongue into her tight pussy and made her squirm and sigh. Best of all, she'd put on her harness and . . .

'Yes, yes, yes,' Jackie cried. 'Fuck me, fuck me harder.'

Keeping it skilful all along, Trish obliged. She liked the way Jackie anchored her heels into the bed and thrust up to meet her. Better still, she liked it when she weighed anchor and locked her ankles behind Trish's back instead.

The feel of their bodies moving together . . . hot, sweaty and smooth skin on skin, tits on tits . . .

Jackie screamed and came.

Trish kept going. Jackie had cum a few times previously; Trish was confident she had more in her locker; that a skilled lover could make her climax again . . . and again and again.

'Yes, yes, yes,' Jackie reiterated. 'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!'

*****

The Sioux's head was well and truly messed up. Why had she pretended to be sick and therefore missed a night of sex with Trish? Why was she so full of jealousy and guilt? And why couldn't she consign Vic to a mental coffin with a well-deserved stake hammered through her heart?

The answers were as simple as they were obvious. Trish's true feelings were a total mystery to her. Back in London she had betrayed the superstar diva. Okay, Trish seemed to have forgiven her, but no way could she have forgotten. Surely she harboured at least part of a grudge.

Anyway, that explained some of the guilt; as for jealousy . . .

While Trish had been locked away in intensive training, The Sioux and Victoria had been on tour with the rest of the WWE Universe. And, thanks to those mother-fucking photographs, Victoria had been using The Sioux as an unpaid call girl.

Not that she really minded being used like that. Being the submissive in bondage games (the sort she daren't ask Trish to try because of London; the sort that involved lots of ropes, ball gags and blindfolds) always got her off enormously. And being flogged with that cat-o-nine tails of hers was even better than being thoroughly smacked.

Not that there was anything wrong with a thorough smacking . . .

The Sioux sighed forlornly. She liked being beaten with her riding crop too. Victoria knew exactly how to do that; not too soft, not too hard, so she could build and build. She liked the humiliation as well, and the way Mistress Victoria only ever used supersized strap-ons.

And, after being dominated, sometimes sobbing, always glowing inside and out, she liked to be cradled while she sucked Victoria's rock hard nipples.

Truth was that the mother-fucking photographs had hardly entered the equation. Mistress Victoria gave her the sort of sex nobody else could ever achieve. One click of her fingers would have had the same effect as a thousand threats of exposure.

That was the jealousy explanation and it worked both ways: she was envious of Trish for clearly wanting Vic, and envious of Vic for clearly wanting another go at Trish.

The Sioux slumped back on the hotel bed, her head thumping into her pillow. Were the two divas at it even as she tormented herself? And if they were, what were they actually doing? Was Trish making gentle but passionate love to Vic, or was Mistress Victoria being typically dominant?

After much internal debate, The Sioux reached for her phone and called Trish.

No response.

Devastated, afraid of what she might hear, she called Victoria.

No response.

For another thirty minutes The Sioux tossed and turned, trying vainly to empty her mind. But her attempts failed. Finally she could stand it no more. Pulling on some clothes she left her room, not for the first time intending to crawl, beg and plead.

*****

'That was good,' said Jackie, her breathing still ragged. 'Now it's my turn.'

'Is it really?' Trish raised her brows. 'You don't have to if you don't want.'

'Oh I want,' Jackie assured her, fiddling with Trish's fastenings.

Trish chuckled and let her remove the harness, watching as she selected a smaller replacement dildo. Then she obediently rolled onto her back and enjoyed the way Jackie chewed her tits and tenderly licked her clitoris. She enjoyed having a tongue crammed deep into her pussy too. And she certainly didn't complain when knowing fingers circled her ring.

Oho, she thought, here we go!

But Jackie made her wait. Still limiting herself to mouth and fingers, she pushed Trish's legs up over her head, as if she was going for a winning pinfall. Then she started to lick Trish's anus and simultaneously thumbed her clit.

Wailing encouragement, Trish made no effort to kick out of the hold.

'Yes, yes, yes,' she endorsed.

Eventually, after forcing two or three small cums and leaving Trish mostly up in the clouds, Jackie rolled her onto her front with a pillow part-under her, elevating her ass.

'Easy does it,' she said.

Trish wasn't sure if Jackie was talking to her or to herself. She didn't much care either. 'Oh my God,' she went as the business end of the dildo slowly traced a line downwards from the cleft of her buttocks.

One brief instant of discomfort later and she'd been penetrated by perhaps three inches. For a while Jackie kept it at that, fucking that short stretch of her rectum and doing it well. Gradually she eased in a little farther . . . and farther still.

As always Trish was amazed how orgasmic this activity was. She came almost immediately and was vaguely conscious of the pillow getting damp beneath her (well, maybe it wasn't just getting damp, maybe it was nearing saturation point). Then the dildo was into her as far as it could ever possibly go and she was cumming again and again.

'Oh thank you, oh fuck me, oh yes, yes please,' she cried incoherently.

Jackie was shifting position. Keeping the toy deeply inside, she stretched out along Trish's body, the fronts of her legs on the back of Trish's, her tits pressing against her shoulder-blades, their sweaty hair tangling together.

'I want to hear the world champion scream,' she murmured into Trish's ear. 'I'm going to fuck her and fuck her until she screams and submits.'

'Suits me,' Trish said valiantly. 'Go ahead, do your worst.'

Jackie began to grind. And her grinding motion was infinitely better than straight in and out. It was in Trish's opinion, anyway. While she had no problem with Jackie's basic in-and-out rhythm, she found her even more basic grinding to be . . . Well, it was wonderful.

And what the fuck was happening to her? So far as she was aware, the most sensitive bit of her pussy was on the inside, up the front wall. Right then it seemed as if Jackie was fucking her most sensitive bit from another direction altogether.

Trish liked it up the ass . . . always had done . . . but this was exceptional.

'Yes,' she said, relishing every second of everything. 'Harder . . . deeper . . .'

Jackie was clearly the female equivalent of a gentleman: she did her best to oblige.

And Trish was clearly the equivalent of a grateful slut; she took it and took it, screaming out and wailing but never once considering a submission.

*****

Victoria's room was on the top floor, two levels higher than The Sioux's. Nobody answered when she knocked and Vic still wasn't answering her phone.

Scowling, The Sioux checked up and down the corridor. The security presence was mostly on the lifts and stairways; there was no one in sight. Wishing that the door had an old-fashioned keyhole, she put her ear to the wood and listened.

There was nothing to be heard. Those rooms were supposed to be soundproofed, but surely the sounds of flogged multiple orgasms would be audible from so nearby.

Still scowling, The Sioux made her way to Trish's room, right across at the other side of the top floor. There was no answer there, either. No answer but this time, when she put her ear to the door, she definitely heard a woman crying out.

She listened again. It was Trish; she was sure it was Trish. And whether there was pain in those yells or not, she was in no doubt they were yells of ecstasy.

The temptation to kick her way into the suite was massive. Somehow The Sioux overcame it. She turned away dejectedly and dragged her sorry ass back towards the elevators.

Chapter Three

Victoria woke in a surprisingly mellow mood and lay a while, watching Mari-Lynn sleep. Last night had gone well, she decided. No, it had gone very well indeed. And, to say she had never had any masseuse training, she had excelled in her role.

Well I am a sort of actress, she thought, and a darn good one at that.

She chuckled softly at the memory. Mari-Lynn had said she had rose oil in her room so they had gone there, dimmed the lights and spread plenty of towels on the bed. Then, after sharing a glass of white wine, they had got naked.

And they had done it slowly, Mari-Lynn first removing an item of clothing, then Victoria. Before too long they were down to bra and panties and Mari-Lynn was grinning that increasingly attractive grin of hers.

'That should do for a massage,' she'd said mock-innocently, 'shouldn't it?'

Victoria had responded by unhooking her bra and stepping out of her knickers. Laughing, Mari-Lynn had followed suit and got onto the bed, lying face down and defenceless. And then, switching off "Mistress Victoria", determined to be "Vic", she had set to work.

At the time her tactic had been to do to Mari-Lynn all the things that she liked having done to her. That meant none of a physiotherapist's often brutal ministrations. Instead, using a very generous amount of oil, she began with short circular hand and thumb movements over her shoulders and arms, searching for the knots in her muscles. Then, taking her time over it, she'd gradually shifted focus onto Mari-Lynn's upper and lower back, and then onto her bum and finally her legs.